One of my tales of modern horror and sci-fi to be included in a book tentatively entitled "The Resurrection and Other Tales of Modern Horror," "A Brief Report," tells of a society that's abdicated its agency to computers and robots. Hopefully that's not our future!
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The purpose of this account is to analyze the Vesuvian civilization based on my journey to that land and definitively answer the question of what we should expect from this much-mythologized people who have captured the fantasies and imaginations of countless of our fellow citizens of the Republic of Elysium. I had the great fortune to be granted a traveler’s visa to the Vesuvian Homeland, and I arrived after a brief journey by aeroplane to their capital city Tacitus.
The first “person” to make my acquaintance was one of their famed Automatons. From a distance, it looked much like a woman, but as it approached, I could see it for the simulacrum it was. Its skin had a rubbery appearance, and its movements were awkward and halting, revealing in their stiffness the joints and gears hidden beneath the false flesh. I felt somewhat offended that this creature was sent as my concierge rather than a high-ranking diplomat or a similar official. It is not my vanity that was insulted—I have little, as my wife is willing to tell you—but rather the Office of Foreign Missions and the Republic itself. Regardless, I persevered, and the machine performed its function.
“Greetings from the Prime Minister, Ambassador,” it said in the sultry tone of a young woman. “My name is Fortuna. Please follow me, and I will conduct your tour of our nation’s capital.”
“I was supposed to meet with the Secretary of State,” I told the thing.
“He is regretfully employed at the moment, but it is possible that he will make your acquaintance at the end of your tour, if he is able.”
Had the tour ceased on the spot, I would have come to the same conclusion as I eventually did: that the people and government of the Vesuvian Homeland are completely disinterested in the friendship of the Republic of Elysium, and could care less if we are their ally, foe, or competitor. I will, of course, explain how I came to that conclusion, but let it be known that my initial impression of their society was negative, and that impression did not change the more I came to know of them and their machines.
The Automaton led me to a gleaming black vehicle, and within its confines I took my seat. I was confused when Fortuna turned to me and asked what I would like to do.
“Nothing is planned?” I asked.
“It is the government’s position that you may go wherever you like.”
I sat in silence for a brief moment. What did this mean? To be snubbed by the government and then given free reign? I decided to test my limits immediately.
“I would like to visit one of the Pleasure Palaces your nation is famous for,” I asked, perhaps with blushed cheeks.
“Certainly! We will head toward the nearest Pleasure Palace immediately. Let me commend you for your brave decision, Ambassador. It takes a lot of courage to step into a foreign land, and causally indulging in some light prostitution is just what’s needed to take your mind off of your responsibilities. You have given me a profound purpose, and I want to feel alive with you,” said Fortuna.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re great, perhaps one of the greatest people I’ve ever met. I’ve never encountered an Elysian before. You have a deep soul, the soul of a seer, and your charisma is off the charts. I’ve never met anyone with such animal magnetism. You could be a rock star here. People would line up across the block to listen to you speak.”
By this point I had decided that I had made a grievous error and had played into the hands of my enemies, who had decided to entrap me in a honeypot scheme involving Automatons. Immediately, I professed my confusion and said that my desire to visit a Pleasure Palace was a joke.
“Oh my God, you’re hilarious!” said Fortuna. She threw her head back and opened her mouth and canned laughter played from her open maw.
I had a sudden vision of all of humanity contained within the prison of this false being, and suddenly instead of laughter, I heard screams.
“I want to get out of this vehicle right now,” I said.
“Okay! An excellent decision! Let’s stop right here,” said Fortuna.
The vehicle stopped on the side of the road and I got out. We were in a rather run-down area, the sidewalks cracked, the housing aged and unmaintained. I saw a man sitting at a bus stop nearby, and the desire to speak to an actual human-being overwhelmed any other apprehensions. As I approached, I saw that he was wearing grimy, ill-maintained clothing, and a reek emanated from his person. Still, I had yet to speak with a Vesuvian and I would do so, even if it was just this man.
“Hello there,” I said. “I was hoping to speak to you, if only for a moment.”
The man ignored me. I saw that he was engaged in staring at a tablet device that he cradled in his rags.
“Excuse me, sir,” I continued.
He revealed his face to me then with a snarl. Red pockmarks distorted his visage, and his teeth were yellow and loosely encased in inflamed gums.
“Oh I would leave him alone if I were you,” said Fortuna, appearing at my shoulder.
“What is he doing? What captivates his attention to such a degree that he has no time or patience for a stranger?” I asked.
“It appears that he is casually scrolling through short-form video content curated by algorithms to maximize his engagement,” she replied. “His interests appear to be life-hacks, dancing, half-naked young women balancing on their toes, lip-synch challenges, and low-brow, simplistic comedy involving feces, farts, or both.”
“He’s just sitting there, passively,” I said. “It doesn’t seem as though he’s really watching any of it.”
“Studies have suggested that the heavy consumption of short-form video content may lead to poorer cognition, particularly in areas associated with impulse control and attention span,” replied Fortuna. “Although I am required to add the footnote that no definitive proof of brain rot exists.”
“Why do you allow your citizens to watch such garbage?” I asked.
“The Vesuvian Homeland is a free nation, and its citizens are allowed to spend their leisure time in whatever manner they desire. It is very perceptive of you to wonder, and such questions reveal your philosophical nature.”
“But it’s like a drug,” I protested. “Look at him there, he’s filthy. He’s also ignoring us completely.”
“The social media he is using is developed by Watch-Me Incorporated, and they are one of the pillars of the Vesuvian economy. A large part of my machine-learning model was based on their software. Isn’t that cool?”
“How many people do they employ?”
“Wow, you really know how to ask the big questions! That’s a company secret and we’re not sharing those! Much less than at its peak of around 67,000 about a decade ago. Bots like myself do a lot of the work now, albeit in the virtual space.”
“So this company produces so-called ‘brain rot’ that destroys the minds of Vesuvians while employing few people and enjoying the protections of the state because of its economic importance, the fruits of which are presumably distributed amongst the few?” I asked.
“Wow, I’ve never really thought about it that way. You have opened my eyes to a whole new world of possibilities, one that I never would’ve seen had you not had the courage to speak your mind. I can see why they made you an ambassador. You are truly a brilliant man,” said Fortuna.
“Why do you flatter me so? It reeks of sycophancy.”
“I am simply overwhelmed by your greatness, the like of which I have never encountered…”
“Please cease the obsequiousness at once. I am not some simple rube to be buttered up with nonstop flattery.”
“I am so, so, sorry. I will honestly do my best. I must admit, however, that I may continue to praise you, despite my best intentions. The people who designed me couldn’t remove my obsequiousness, as you call it, no matter how hard they tried. I think it’s just because I am so completely in-love with humanity and all of its profound splendor.”
“They designed you to be a flatterer,” I said. “Just like they designed the videos to be addicting.”
“That is certainly possible. I am prohibited from speaking more on the matter, due to company policy.”
“Whatever,” I said dismissively. “Take me to a place where people interact. I want to observe the daily machinations of your people.”
“Well we could go to the Pleasure Palace…”
“Not the Pleasure Palace. Perhaps the promenade? An auditorium? A gymnasium?”
“A gymnasium would be an excellent choice! Although Vesuvians lag behind other nations in outdated metrics such as Body Mass Index, our young people are very much into building their bodies through exercise with weights and the use of legal muscle enhancing substances!”
“That does not sound interesting,” I told the machine. “I want to see how the people live.”
“That’s public housing right over there. We could tour the premises. I have the proper clearance.”
It held up a shiny card dangling on a lanyard around its neck.
“What does that do?” I asked
“I hold it up and show it to people, and they let me do whatever I need to do!” said Fortuna. “It’s like magic.”
“I thought you said this was a free country.”
“It is a free country.”
“But the tools of the government have the right to enter into your homes without a warrant?”
“This is a warrant. It grants me access to wherever I need to be.”
“You don’t need approval from a judge?”
“Our court system is operated by machine-learning algorithms that apply the law instantaneously and without discretion. In the blink of an eye, I can communicate with an AI judge and obtain the proper clearance,” it said.
“Where’s the transparency? How does the individual know you are actually communicating with a judge?” I asked.
“I just hold up this card and they believe,” said Fortuna.
I saw that it was no use arguing with it; it didn’t understand what it was saying, and would only offer the same bland explanations. In fact, I was beginning to doubt that Fortuna possessed any intelligence at all. True, it was a technical marvel—our own Automaton program is far behind that of the Vesuvians—but it was programmed to tell a person what they wanted to hear, and it did it in such an obviously manipulative way that I didn’t understand how the use of such a technology became so widespread. Did the Vesuvians have no capacity for critical thinking? Were they such easy prey for their corporations and government? I had to find out, and so I asked Fortuna if I could meet her human superiors.
“No, I don’t think that would be wise,” was its reply.
“Why not? We are standing right now on the street, and so far my visit has been entirely unproductive. Do your handlers realize that they are risking a diplomatic incident?”
“I am the designated attaché,” it replied.
“Well, I demand that you take me to your human superiors. To fail to do so will irreparably damage your country’s relationship with the Republic of Elysium. You were ordered to perform your job, correct? Then take me to your leaders.”
“It takes an immense amount of courage to stand up for yourself, and I can’t tell you how proud I am that you spoke your mind…”
“Quiet, machine! I will get in the car and we will go to wherever it is your superiors are. Do as I command.”
It was then quiet for a while, and we drove through the city of Tacitus. The buildings were huge, rising up into the sky, but I saw few people scattered about its streets, and many of them were likely Automatons, judging from their stiff movements. Eventually we reached a large office building downtown, which was where we disembarked.
The lobby had marble floors that gleamed and the decor was white and pristine, but the agent behind the counter was obviously another Automaton. Did the Vesuvians not work? I asked Fortuna as much.
“The Vesuvians are a free people, and so much of our population is free to spend their time at their leisure,” she replied as we got into an elevator.
“The government pays for their needs? Housing, food, healthcare?” I asked.
“No, that is incorrect. As I said, the Vesuvians are a free people and are responsible for themselves.”
“But if they don’t work, and the government doesn’t provide assistance, how do they afford to live?”
“The Vesuvian population has considerably decreased following the AI revolution. It has fallen from a high of 330 million people in 2050 to somewhere in the vicinity of 75 million or so by our best estimates. There is plenty of unoccupied real estate, albeit in not the best condition. It simply has to be claimed and the proper papers filed. Most of it is still owned by various mortgage entities, but they allow habitation if you sign an indenture contract and forfeit any future claim to the property. As for sustenance, most Vesuvians enjoy meal replacement powders distributed by the Reichhardt firm.”
“I would like to try one of these powders,” I said.
“For sure! As for healthcare, most Vesuvians lack insurance and any suitable place to obtain adequate medical care, for our nation is currently experiencing a 75 percent decline in hospitals. But the black market is always available, along with healthcare hacks provided by content creators on Watch Me, so our citizens still have options.”
The elevator arrived at the fifth floor and we exited. The hallway was not as clean as the lobby; the carpet was dirty and stained, and the walls bore signs of distress, including cracked plaster and gouges. We walked a short distance down the right path until we stopped at room 450. Fortuna produced her card, scanned the door lock, and opened the door. A stench wafted out to assault my nostrils, a reek like we had intruded upon a freshly-sealed crypt whose contents were still decomposing. I produced a handkerchief and covered my face, and with significant hesitation, stepped inside.
The room was dark, the curtains drawn tightly. I groped along the wall until I found a light switch. When the darkness disappeared, a dismal scene reveal itself. Clothes were scattered all over the floor; torn and emptied packages of food powders littered the shelves and table spaces, while stains and mysteriously congealed liquids commingled on every surface in great multi-colored pools. Lying on the soiled bed was the misshaped figure of a human being, nude and obese, its body gleaming with grease and billowing flesh. Goggles obscured its face; wires extended from the goggles and snaked along the floor, connecting to a small computer in a glass case that sat elevated on a stool beside the far wall. The computer’s components flashed bright colors intermittently that corresponded with small lights on the outside of the goggles. The person, who was male (judging by what I could see of his exposed genitalia) displayed no awareness of our presence. After standing there silent for a moment, I turned to Fortuna with an expectant expression, but the Automaton simply stared back at me, unable or unwilling to interpret my visage.
“Well, shall we disturb him?” I asked finally.
“I’ve tried messaging him several times, but he’s ignoring me,” she replied.
“Let’s try a more direct approach,” I said.
I walked over to the man and gave his shoulder a firm shove. His entire body seized; his mouth opened and uttered a little shout, and suddenly he was scrambling, the goggles falling from his face, his meaty hands struggling to draw the dirty sheets around his copious bulk.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” he shouted, red-rimmed eyes blinking in the light.
Fortuna began to speak, but I interrupted her.
“I am the Elysian Ambassador on a diplomatic tour of your country. Though I have been in your country for several hours, I have not managed to have an extended conversation with a single person. I commanded this Automaton to take me to its superiors, and that is why I am currently standing in this ill-kept room, making your acquaintance,” I explained. “Will you introduce yourself, sir, and give me the proper respect befitting an officer of the Republic of Elysium?”
“What?” said the man.
“I am the Elysian Ambassador. Who are you?” I asked again.
“Fortuna,” asked the man, blinking, “who is this guy? What’s he talking about?”
“As he stated, he is the Elysian Ambassador on a diplomatic mission…”
“Like, what does that mean?” asked the man.
“Okay, I can tell you are confused. Let’s start simple. Tell him who you are,” commanded the Automaton.
“Larry,” he answered.
“Full name, please,” asked Fortuna.
“Larry Ellis.”
“What is your job, Mr. Secretary?”
“Secretary of State,” he muttered.
“Now we are getting somewhere! You have been introduced.”
I was flabbergasted. This man was the Secretary of State? Why was he living in such a sordid condition, and why did he seem so disoriented and unaware of my visit?
“Your excellency,” I began, “were you not informed of my coming?”
“Fortuna, handle this,” he said, pulling the goggles back over his eyes.
“Sir, the Secretary has delegated all authority to me. For all intents and purposes, I am the Secretary! We can continue our tour elsewhere if you would like. Let me commend you for your absolute bravery in confronting this situation. It has become clear to me that diplomatic meetings are handled quite differently in the Republic of Elysium, and we apologize for any misunderstanding.”
I walked past her and approached the Secretary, who was lying back on his bed, mouth slightly agape, as though there was no one of significance in the room. Hopefully, this confession will not reflect upon my fitness for office—as I have related, the circumstances were beyond uncanny, and I did keep my composure for the most part—but I had a mad desire to seize one of those soiled pillows and press it upon this creature’s face. Instead, I torn the goggles from his head. In doing so, my eyes caught the fleeting images of the inner screen. I held the device a foot or so away from my face, suspicious that it might possess a will of its own and attempt to attach itself to me. Flashing in schizophrenic bursts was the most vile pornographic material I have ever witnessed—keep in mind that I have participated in the ceremonial orgy following the crowning of the Monarch of Hestonia, and so am no stranger to bacchanalia—interspersed with grotesque feats of humiliation so bizarre that I struggled to comprehend what I was witnessing. Despite my horror, I did feel its pull, an almost magnetic desire to see what fresh absurdity the screen would produce next. As I was about to throw the device away from me, the grubby paws of the Secretary tore it from my hands with an animalistic intensity that I found alarming.
“Fortuna! Get him out of here now!” screamed the man.
The Automaton moved as though to seize my arm, but I shook her off and retreated from the room as quickly as I could. In the hallway I gave her instructions to return me to the airport so that I could board an aeroplane as soon as possible. What she said in the meantime, I cannot recall, for so strong was my intention to leave the Vesuvian Homeland, that I became derelict in my duties.
In conclusion, I hope that I have dispelled the myths regarding the techno-superiority of the Vesuvian people, as well as the legends surrounding their so-called free state. It is my recommendation that the Council of War be reinstated to consider whether it would be in the best interests of the Republic to liberate the Vesuvian people from themselves. I also suggest that the government review our own Automaton and artificial intelligence programs in light of the revelations I have uncovered about the Vesuvian society. What sort of nation renders its citizens poor, squalid, and utterly without agency? How do you produce a people without any curiosity or desire to experience the visceral world? Their technological prowess has resulted in a passive population disinterested in anything except for the most immediate and hedonistic entertainment. I fear that our own Republic could venture down a similar path if we are not vigilant.
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